Ut Conuenerat Esse Delicatos
by glindalupin
Summary: During the Affair of the Counterfeit Countess, Watson discoveres his amorous regard for a certain consulting detective dressed in the garb of a countess from a small Balkan nation. Hilarity and reciprocated affection eventually ensue.


**A/N--- I based this off of the short story, "The Affair of the Counterfeit Countess," by Craig Shaw Gardner. It's a HILARIOUS mustread among SH pastiche. :) This story was just fun fun to write. I could NOT have done it without my good friend, drakkenwashere. She provided several ideas for the story, and she was a superb beta reader. :D Thank you so much, dearie! So sit back, and I do hope you enjoy the story. The title is from Catullus 50 and means "as we had agreed to take our pleasure." drakkenwashere came up with the awesome title! :) Oh, and I do not own Sherlock Holmes, nor am I deriving any money from this fic.**

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Rainstorms of black ashes always take me back to days filled with maelstroms of bullets and torrents of blood, days of broken men and lost friendships.

Right now, staring into the wreckage of what was once a wall to the embassy, as the ashy soot slowly fell to the ground at my feet, I felt a shiver seize my body.

I felt foolish for feeling such deep-seated fear, especially since the explosion had incurred no human damage and especially since the duke of the small Balkan country was quite far from the blast intended for him.

However, I could not help it. The anarchist was still at large, still orchestrating his plans, and according to Holmes, was going to try and achieve his plot with more subterfuge and care.

Such attempts at assassination were not unfamiliar to me, having been at Holmes's side for years at this point, but there was something about the sight of a bomb-blast that unnerved me to the core.

Upon arriving home, I noticed that I was limping about as heavily as I had been during the year without both Mary and Holmes. I was about to climb the stairs when I heard a voice call out from behind me.

"Watson, I do not recommend attempting those stairs without an arm to guide you."

I smiled as I felt a warm hand slide under my elbow and snake around my forearm, grasping it tightly. I looked to my right and saw the grey, sanguine eyes of my friend concernedly look me over.

"Afghanistan again?"

I nodded.

"Do let me play that piece you love so much before you attend to your toilet."

Once up the stairs, I felt a small touch of sadness at losing his physical presence at my side, but I allowed myself to bask in the detective's rarely-seen tenderness. It was not often I saw emotion (other than curiosity or humour) enter my friend's eyes or his attentions, and when they did, I felt a small feeling of gleeful narcissism towards the fact they were only ever directed towards me.

I watched him from my armchair move slowly about the room, already feeling much more at ease in my anticipation for his ministrations.

Music slowly began to pervade the air, and I allowed my eyes to close. My thoughts finally, _finally_ cleared, free from thoughts of Balkan dukes, of explosions, of mottled war friends, of everything negative in my strange life.

I was allowed to concentrate only on the soft, sweet music coming from my friend's soul. It was one of his own pieces, and I had oft found him resorting to the melody when I was closest to slumber in the armchair by the fire after particularly long days of our consulting practise.

My eyes worked their way open slowly, as it was getting increasingly more difficult to remain awake. They startled open, however, when I realized his eyes were affixed upon me. He did not even drop his gaze to watch his hand rake across the strings with the bow.

It was most unnerving, and I could feel my chest tighten as I saw that his eyes spoke of untold concerns and affection, affection I had once thought was missing in this relationship.

I snapped my eyes shut and tried to breathe normally. Years had passed since Reichenbach, but not a day had gone by that I had not thought on Holmes's poorly chosen decision to leave me out of his plans and of his life. Every day, even if for only a passing second, I was left to wonder if Holmes ever cared for me at all.

Was I just his chronicler?

Is that all I would ever be?

I felt my breath quicken, and I tried to steer my thoughts away and focus yet again on the music, but that task was much easier said than done. Holmes was standing no more than three feet away, more than likely continuing his unnerving stare, and I could not remain in such a heated atmosphere without my thoughts switching to my more base desires.

I wanted Holmes.

No, I did not _want_ Holmes. I _needed_ him.

Every day since his return, I have needed him. For every day that I have doubted his affections, I have also doubled my efforts in assuaging those fears by needing him. Needing him in ways that go far beyond the laws of our society. In ways that I have not engaged in since my tour in the less limiting societies of Afghanistan. In ways that would send my friend from my side within minutes.

My eyelids pressed further closed, and I turned my head towards the cushioning the chair, trying to block out the thought of him leaving.

"Watson?"

I was taken from my reverie abruptly by the sound most cacophonous to his music. "Hmm?" I tried not to appear unsettled.

Holmes smiled sadly down at me, as he rested a hand on my shoulder. "The demons must be more persuasive tonight than I thought. Perhaps I should best leave you to your thoughts for the night."

I sighed and looked sheepishly at him. "Perhaps you are right… I do apologize, dear chap. I… I should best be off to my quarters. It may go away with a good night's rest."

Our night ended fairly uneventfully after that point. I tossed underneath my sheets, feeling as if they were lead weights pressing down upon my body, and the pillow was a rock beneath my head. Sleep would not come well tonight, and therefore, the thoughts would be allowed to plague me further.

Fortunately, sleep came, and I awoke to Mrs. Hudson's familiar rap at the door. What was not familiar, however, was the absurdly copious amount of light filtering through the room beneath the shade.

"Mrs. Hudson? Dare I ask what time it is?"

She called beyond the door. "It is a quarter past eleven, and before you lecture me on letting you sleep so late, let me first say I was under strict orders from Mr. Holmes not to rouse you until lunch."

I heard her bustle about the door and leave, presumably expecting me to follow.

I roused from my bed and hugged myself against the cold in the room, smiling at the thoughtfulness of my companion. I went to breakfast, or, lunch, as it were, in good spirits, much better than those of the previous night, and my leg did not twinge one bit. The food was particularly delicious, and the paper spoke naught of ill deeds towards other human beings.

I was taken aback, therefore, when a tall woman broke through the sanctity of my good humour.

She introduced herself as the Baroness Von Stuppell, a name for which I had no memory, but presumably, Holmes was very familiar with the woman, which could explain her unannounced presence in our sitting room without ceremony or warning. Which could also explain her double-edged words about their relationship.

A small fire burned behind my eyes.

Jealousy. Unadulterated jealousy.

"_I am quite sure Mr. Holmes is currently aware of my every move."_

She was beautiful, indeed, with a sharp face and some years to colour her looks with personality, but she was still not on par with my friend Holmes. He would not look upon the fair sex with amorous regard.

_Nor would he __upon anyone, for that matter…_

We continued our exchange, and I tried to handle the matter as best I could until Holmes returned from wherever he may be.

However, something did not sit right with this strange Baroness. She looked the part and acted the part to an unsettling degree, but she was certainly hiding something.

I voiced my qualms as such, and was rewarded with a deeper and much more appealing voice bursting forth from the lady.

"Watson, you are wise to my game!"

I gasped softly and then chuckled softly to myself, despite being annoyed at having been duped by the great detective yet again. I was inwardly very relieved that this character was not as "wise to the games" of Mr. Sherlock Holmes as I had just briefly and most enviously thought.

Holmes unveiled his plans to me of entering the embassy with this disguise, in hopes of gaining access to the stubborn duke through one of his most favourite channels: that of a woman.

I, obviously, was not keen on this plan. The idea of Holmes cavorting with a preening and womanizing noble unnerved me.

"You intend to go into this strange place, alone and in disguise?" I continued to voice my concerns for his safety in a manner that kept quiet my own fears of risking Holmes to the advances of another man.

"I will not make a move with you." Holmes grinned coquettishly at me behind the Oriental fan of his costume, fluttering his naturally long lashes in a manner that set my heart to the beat of lovelorn drum.

He filled me in (as fully as Holmes does on cases- which means very succinctly and with pains to obviously keep me from _all_ of his grand designs) on his desire to have me play the role of his _personal_ physician. The lashes batted again at the word, and I felt a blush creep up my cheeks and my neck.

He… or should I just begin to say she in this instance? It was damnably difficult to distinguish gender at this point in my mind, what with the fullness of his lips that were near my ear being delicately frosted with rouge and with the soft perfume lingering in the air about us.

No matter. _She _leaned closer towards me and continued to tell of how we would meet Colonel Geltham from the embassy yet again at the gates and be introduced to the duke most expediently afterwards, if this theory of using femininity to access the duke actually works. However, I trusted Holmes and his theories to work, as they seldom fail.

The afternoon found us at the steps to that embassy which had caused me last night's discomforts. My stomach churned in anticipation, but the sight of this woman, this character, prevented me from such melancholic thoughts.

I was enchanted, to say the least, by this temptress he was playing. She stumbled before me as she alighted from our coach, and I reached out to break her fall. Her face landed softly against mine, and she pulled back, blushing softly but grinning. "I could have had a bit more practice with the shoes."

I returned the blush and looked to my own feet as she walked before me towards the building. I fought a difficult battle within myself to not stare at her bustle, but the battle was soon lost. I was freely blushing at this point and most grateful when we finally met up with our new acquaintance in this case, the colonel, at the gates.

Once inside the embassy, I freely observed Holmes in his element and could not help but admire the complete immersion into his character. The tweed ensemble was snugly fitted to his curves, and I was in awe as to how he managed to walk as though he lived among the fairer sex his entire life.

A large ruckus drew me from these thoughts of adulation, and suddenly, we were introduced most abrasively to a tyrannous little man named Count Orlock. I stifled back a laugh when he tried to brusquely move past the Baroness, only to be thrown backwards onto his celebrated arse by, what I undoubtedly know to be, my friend's extensive physical capabilities to stand one's ground.

"You will have to forgive Count Orlock. He becomes frustrated with the way the grand duke conducts his affairs." Colonel Geltham ran a hand through his hair nervously and gestured for us to continue down the hallway.

Our discussion ensued regarding the less than expeditious method of handling state affairs that the duke engages in. I was appalled that such matters of importance would only be entertained if presented by women! Could such a finicky manner be entertained in our own Court? Nothing would ever get done if half of the population was denied entrance to public affairs!

I looked to the baroness to gauge her reaction to such news. Her forehead wrinkled in deep thought, in a manner I have often see Holmes do when thinking over a three-pipe problem. "So my information was correct."

I wanted to hiss a warning of reproach, for the voice of my friend was that which spoke, not the voice of a baroness of a Balkan nation. He would have to be more careful when trying to convince the duke of his gender and station.

The mistake also caused me to realize the gravity of the situation: that Holmes could suffer greatly if this ruse failed and if he were exposed. Caution was of the utmost importance, so it would be best if I did nothing to rouse suspicion. I averted my eyes from his backside and towards the double doors we were approaching, guarded by a sentry that gave us notice as we entered.

The vision before me took me by surprise, despite having been warned about the duke's predilections.

There were women everywhere. Of all ages! All were astoundingly beautiful, and all were dressed in the most fashionable attire of the aristocracy this year. Looking to my baroness, I was immediately afraid that this character would be lost in this foreign sea of the ornate. She was exceedingly beautiful, in her right, but she could not match them in showy displays and expensive jewelry.

I guess what she lacked in costume she made up for in character, for we marched over to the grand duke himself and demanded an audience.

The white-haired man, surrounded by various women of his parlour, smiled warmly at the baroness and rose from his seat, taking her hand in his and bowing to lay a kiss upon it. He looked up from her hand, which he still clasped (to my dismay) and said, "It is an _honour_." I could hear the leer and the sexual connotation and hopes in this man. Anger flared, and I almost did not hear the following exchange, until he directed himself to me.

"And who is this?"

"_Only_ my personal physician."

I was stung briefly by the cold words, but a part had to played, and I did my best to hide the pain. My task was made easier when the baroness cried, "Doctor, my salts!"

I saw her swoon, and I was paralyzed for a moment as to a course of action. I selected a bottle most appropriate to the guise and handed it to her, watching her open it delicately and inhale softly. I stood in raptures, watching her face as she expelled a soft breath of relief in handing me back the bottle. She gave me the gentlest of smiles and brushed her hand against mine in the exchange. I did my best not to blush yet again.

The baroness began to engage in a nauseatingly amiable discourse with the duke, and it took all of my mental fortitude not to cry out in anger. The baroness, Holmes, my focus of desire for years now, was flagrantly flirting with this duke who let it go to his ego, puffing out his rotund chest and pawing at his war decorations like a kitten for milk in its saucer.

The colonel leaned over towards me, whispering, "The duke, my dear doctor, is totally smitten." _Just wonderful… _"Finally, a cool, continental noblewoman of mature years who can challenge him."

_What?_

Did the colonel not know of our plans? Did he, as the duke did, believe that this baroness was as real as the envy I was feeling?

_Damn it all, Holmes_.

We were in deeper waters than I had thought.

I turned at the sound of a cough to my left. Count Orlock leered at the pair before us and whispered softly, "The duke will have a new conquest before the night is done."

My head snapped back to the pair, and I stared open-mouthed. I could not allow this ridiculous display of wanton _affection_, if it could be called that, go that far or even _remotely_ close to that far.

_However…_

How far was Holmes willing to go to find the inside man? _No…_ There are certain parts of anatomy than cannot be mistaken or hidden!

Nonetheless, it was time for an intervention. The baroness was beginning to show minute signs of discomfort, receding from the duke, only to have him fill the gap and bring his corpus closer.

I was angered, when I approached, at hearing his words and attempts at seduction.

"_The only way you shall be free of me is if you disappear from the face of the Earth!"_

"_With me you shall be very rich!"_

"_The only stars I need are in your eyes."_

What utter tripe! Holmes deserved more than clichés and inept romancing. I was beside myself with relief when the baroness called for water, followed closely by a call for me and my "salts."

I walked brusquely over and made an effort to physically and bodily move the duke aside and place as much distance as I could between him and the baroness. I admit to snarling in his direction. "Water will do her no good if you do not give her _air_."

I looked the baroness over concernedly and saw her smile apologetically at me. She whispered hurriedly in my ear. "Thank you, Watson. I'm afraid the duke's affections can be a bit suffocating." _I'm glad I was not the only one to think as such. _The baroness continued. "Still, I think we should remain. The assassin might strike at any time!"

She awarded me with the most winsome of smiles at my soft groan and eye-roll. I was not allowed the time to return the smile, for a serving lady thrust a glass of water in my direction. I tried not to stare as I realized that the serving ladies were not as beautiful or elegantly dressed as the ladies of the court. A small bout of indignant anger rose in my chest at the disparity and emphasis on beauty by this country.

However, there was my baroness to attend to. I handed her the glass and watched as she raised her fan to cover her face and sipped from the glass, feigning a need for privacy.

Instead, once quenched, she leaned close towards me again, this time her moistened lips close to my ear, and whispered, "_John_, you are playing your part astoundingly well. I must commend your performance. Hold out for just a moment longer, my dear Doctor."

My neck burned at the sound of my Christian name issuing thus forth from her lips in such soft, low registers. All I could do was nod.

She looked away from my face and said, louder, "Ah. I am better already." The fan lowered, and the baroness smiled thinly at the duke. "Duke, there is much I would love to ask you about your country."

_Damn it all. Must w__e begin this nonsense yet again?_

I felt my stomach turn with dread as the duke invited the baroness to dinner, inevitably changing what I thought to be an afternoon affair into an evening affair.

My dread turned into full-fledged fear when a young member of the court giggled (falsely, I am sure), "You monopolize our new arrival, you naughty duke! Come, Baroness, we will get you some air. Let us go and freshen up!"

This was undoubtedly a ploy by the women who were jealous of this new woman in the duke's parlour, a ploy that could have disastrous effects if they pried enough! How would Holmes withstand the female onslaught and questions? How would he be able to maintain the persona of the baroness when in that most sacred place of woman?

My stomach turned to knots as I watched them go. I forced myself to think of anything, _anything_, other than exposure, but it was most difficult, even with the insufferable political discussion with Count Orlock to distract me. How could I concentrate when Holmes, my partner and closest friend, was in a place where I could not assist?

I tried to force myself to breathe and remember that Holmes had the uncanny ability to play any situation to his favour. My patience was about to wear thin when I heard a cacophony of giggles to my right.

I turned and saw a crowd of women around the baroness, laughing delightedly at something she happened to be saying at that precise moment. I stood transfixed, watching a laugh take hold of her entire face. She looked my way and gave me the coyest of winks. I knew, at that point, that all had gone well.

However, the same young lass who had stolen away with the baroness turned to me and assured me as such, that the baroness was indeed a marvelous woman who knew more about fashion than she had ever known.

Holmes will never cease to amaze me, and I wonder why I ever doubt him to this day. I turned back to the baroness, almost missing her cue to join her.

Once with her, she took my hand softly and rubbed her thumb over the pad of my hand. I felt myself swallow involuntarily. "I have gained some useful information, as well, Watson. Unless I am very much mistaken, the assassin will not be among the women. Or at least these particular women."

I looked nervously about the women and wondered how he could have procured such information from these women and how he eliminated them from their involvement. I felt a cold shudder down my spine when I remembered our mission and the bomb-blast from the previous day.

"John, do not think on it. Only the task at hand is what matters." She smiled kindly at me and gripped my hand tighter, only to release it immediately after. "The duke is returning!"

I turned and saw an icy glare pointed in my direction, only to be quickly replaced by that fake smile yet again. He positioned himself between myself and the baroness, quickly leading her to the table. I was beside myself when I realized that there was suddenly food all about the room, being set down by the serving ladies I had seen before.

I felt my stomach growl, and I looked around sheepishly, afraid someone had heard my body's protests. Luckily, everyone was paying attention to the conversation between the baroness and the duke.

And the count, apparently. Somehow, in the emergence of food, the Count appeared at the duke's side.

"But Duke! Surely you want to sample the Fannsnufel!"

I almost snorted at the ridiculous name, but the delicacy itself looked delicious, and the duke seemed to agree, voicing his passion for the pastry, his eyes alight with gluttonous glee, the kind I admit to showing when about to tuck into Mrs. Hudson's infamous quail, coated and smothered in creamed spinach sauce.

So transfixed I was upon the idea of her quail and how to procure the specialty from our landlady again that I almost missed the conversation between the three main players of our spectacle.

Apparently, the count was insistent on the duke sampling the Fannsnufel and none other. The baroness looked none too happy about this display of stubbornness.

The duke, in turn, looked nonplussed and pouted. "Perhaps, then, we might sample them together. I will feed one to you, and then, perhaps-"

The fan once again rose to her face, and the baroness painted a smile across her face.

"As eager as I am to sample the delights of your kitchen, I feel that I must pass, and I suggest you pass as well."

The duke frowned for a moment and then guffawed. "So you suggest I save my appetite for… _other _things?"

My appetite was lost most expeditiously. Were this another social atmosphere, one without social backlash, and one most certainly without a mission of the utmost delicacy, the man would have been on the floor from a roundhouse punch within seconds. I cannot stand men who proposition ladies in such flagrant and vulgar manners, and this duke had simply crossed the line one too many times. Towards… Towards Holmes!

I tried to calm the rage and pay attention. The baroness had just suggested the count try the Fannsnufel himself, and I noted the immediate shift in his demeanor. Just recently demanding, full of colour and passion, he appeared quite ashen and nervous.

He denied interest in pastries, but the baroness would not be put off. "Especially none prepared with your sister's recipe?"

I will admit to not following the detective's logic, and I feared that my earlier caveats to hungry thoughts had cost me some valuable information previously stated in their conversation. However, my fears were assuaged that I had not, that this was just another dramatic unveiling by Holmes of the master scheme and its schemer.

I sat back and watched another of his masterpieces unfold.

Orlock gasped openly, his hand rising to his lips. "What do you know of my sister?"

The baroness went on to describe that she had garnered information from the court ladies about this mysterious countess, and how she had supervised the kitchen staff. She also described most minutely and with a quiet determination how the countess had left just before the arrival of the count.

I stood transfixed and eager to see the resolution to this drama. I turned to the duke, as he described the intrigue surrounding this sister, to which the count cried, "What are you insinuating?" His face twisted in rage, purporting the inner turbulence in his mind to the world.

I started for a moment when the colonel, silent for a good while of this afternoon, stepped towards the count. "Is there some difficulty here?"

The baroness turned, as if she had also forgotten the presence of our military acquaintance. She smiled warmly and stretched a finger in his direction, curling it coyly. I felt a slow, torturous burn in my chest that it could not be me as the object of her current need. "Ah!" she cried. "A wonderful source of information! I pray, Colonel, you may allow me to ask you a few questions of a delicate nature?"

The colonel bowed gracefully before the countess and murmured, "If the duke does not object, I am your man."

The duke, ever-annoying and ever-insistent, interjected, stepping towards the baroness. "You will have to stand in line behind me, Colonel! But by all means, answer the delightful lady's questions."

My mind could not withstand this incessant stream of emotions. It was no wonder that Holmes despised the base emotions so. When such jealousy pervades your consciousness at such a constant rate, it feels as if all other cognizance fades. I tried to shake off my indignant anger towards these men and concentrate.

From what I gathered, the baroness was asking about the social (and admittedly sexual) interactions between the members of the duke's court, and something the baroness had said caused the count to shuffle his corpus about and look to the floor, murmuring, "I find my pleasures elsewhere."

The baroness tut-tutted. "In Fannsnufel, perhaps?" Her long, sinewy fingers selected a pastry from the tray, and she slowly walked towards the small man, a small smile permanently fixed upon her face. I instantly recognized the countenance as that of Holmes's predatory grin, the one signaling his impending victory. I immediately stiffened to see the result.

She cooed at the man and held the pastry before his face. "Come, take a bite." Her voice was low and sultry… dangerous. The man before her tried to turn from the pastry, but she was adamant. "Perhaps knowledge of your family has taken away your appetite. You see. I know of your stepfather, a certain Professor Van Zummann."

Several people exclaimed loudly. I admit to being one of them. The anarchist was related to the count? The inside man was therefore _this_ cowering man, who at this moment had his lips clamped firmly shut against the pastry near him?

The voice of the baroness rose above the calamity. "Perhaps when bombs do not work, Count, you find subtler means of death, like poisoning the Fannsnufel." I was utterly shocked. Mention of the bomb of the previous day numbed my mind yet again, and I felt nauseous at the images of Afghanistan that it brought to mind. The baroness's voice pulled me back from the abyss.

"Or should I say… Countess?"

The ladies of the court gasped, but the count did not flinch at the revelation. Instead, he growled, "Enough!" He (or should I say she at this point?) withdrew a knife from his ulster and vowed to kill the duke, advancing towards him.

The colonel and several armed serving women approached each other, each ready to defend their masters.

The baroness appeared alarmed, and she turned towards me, but her face spoke naught of fear. "Doctor, my salts!"

I was at a loss for what to do. What good would a vial do in this situation? What was it that Holmes wanted? My revolver? I had not brought it with me! I thought this situation would not require one, but oh, what a damned fool I was!

As I grappled with my bag to find something to aid us, the baroness spoke coolly, "If you wish to get to the duke, you will have to get by me first."

But what could the baroness do without-?

Oh.

She had my revolver.

I had been a distraction. I inwardly chuckled, and I was glad that I did not know of the ruse, as my acting skills probably would not have prevailed as well as my actual confusion. Holmes was undoubtedly clever, the dog.

A stand-off ensued between the two, and the countess appeared to be losing, what with the armed sentry slowing making their way towards the defeated woman.

The baroness smiled once she had ascertained her victory and turned towards myself and the duke, laughing heartily. She proceeded to explain to us that the anarchist planted his stepdaughter within the embassy to murder the duke, but she, as the head of the kitchen, would immediately be caught if poison were to occur, so this dissemination into the role of man occurred. It was marvelously brilliant, but I was proud to know that it was not brilliant enough to defeat the master detective.

The duke could not wrap his head around the idea. "A countess masquerading as a count! Who could imagine such a thing?"

I saw the baroness softly smile in my direction. "Oh, I assure you, my dear Duke, I can imagine that and more."

I had to withhold my laughter, and I took a small amount of pleasure in the fact that the baroness was trying to withhold her own mirth, as well. However, her good-humouredness immediately faded, as the duke took this as a grand opportunity to make his advances yet again.

Neither I nor the baroness were amused.

The baroness tried to pry herself from the situation and resorted to simply leaving, and I struggled to remain close behind.

We heard the duke cry out in anger, "You cannot desert me like this!" I turned to see his face contorted in a mixture of rage and desperation. "My life shall never be the same! If you exist, I shall find you!"

I was horrified by the statement. It bordered upon the insane, this obsession after a single encounter! Surely, he would not hound the baroness so if he truly cared.

The baroness interrupted my thoughts by grasping my hand gently and whispering, "Then the baroness must cease to exist."

We exited the embassy and took the steps swiftly, though I took pains to ascertain that the shoes that had been a hassle before would not cause my friend further grief. Our hands still locked together, we called for a cab.

At this point, I knew naught of the reasons behind the gesture, but I assumed Holmes wanted to remain in character until we were safe within our flat at Baker Street, away from the prying eyes of society.

I used this rationalization to my advantage, playing along and milking the attentions for all they were worth, for I had never received them as such from Holmes to such a degree before this afternoon.

The cab arrived, and I gently helped the baroness into the cab and followed suit, giving the cabman directions. The baroness smiled warmly at me, sitting across from me and taking my hands into hers, leaning close.

"I do believe that today was a success, Watson, and I could not have succeeded in any of this were it not for you. And for that, I thank you."

Holmes was still using the voice of the baroness, so he was still she in my mind.

I blushed, for what she had said was indeed high praise, something not oft given. More often I received reproach, but today was markedly different. I could not bring myself to look her in the eye.

"Why, Watson, you are positively flushed!" The baroness laughed softly and sat back in her seat, releasing my hand from her soft hands.

I stammered. "I- I.. This situation is just _different_ than any other we have been in. It has been… difficult… to adapt to." I looked up for a moment, sheepishly, and immediately looking down at my feet again when I saw _the_ look from the previous night affixed upon the baroness's face.

_That look. What is she… he… thinking? What does it mean?_

The baroness spoke softly, her voice pervading throughout the cab. "Undoubtedly so…"

After that, she spoke no more, and the ride to 221B was silent. I could not bring myself to look upon the baroness without feeling a heated desire, and Holmes's talents for reading my thoughts and seeing through to my soul would undoubtedly unveil this desire.

I was comforted once back in our rooms at Baker Street, but my stomach ceased to ache nervously because Holmes was still in the attire of the baroness. I knew I would get no peace of mind just yet.

The baroness laughed yet again once we were alone in the sitting room, but this laugh was Holmes's laugh, not the woman's. It was jarring and made it so much harder to discern gender in my mind.

"Watson, am I confusing you with this role? If it troubles you such, I can just continue to use the baroness's voice until I have rid myself of this ridiculous costume."

I spun around and found the baroness staring at me from the table. A cat-like grin was on her… his… face.

"Holmes, if we were in a different century, you would have been-"

"Burned at the stake for a witch. Yes, I know. You have told me. Many times." The smile got wider, and I looked to my feet yet again, embarrassed that Holmes could read me like an open book. What else could he tell?

"Watson- I hope you might award me with a little illumination upon something that has been troubling me so this afternoon." I looked and saw Holmes approaching me slowly. I shuffled where I stood and tried not to display any other traitorous emotions. I nodded my agreement and looked him in the eye, as confidently as I could.

He took my hand in his and massaged it, much in the manner he had earlier in the day at the embassy. "My dear doctor, you have me puzzled, I must admit. For several moments during the day today I believed you to be a better actor than I. Your jealousy was spot on and fit the role of personal physician."

I was torn between relief and a small hurt that he did not recognize my emotions for what they truly where. However, he continued.

"I thought this to be true until I realized a pattern. Firstly, your reactions were nearly immediate, which is hard to feign in improvisational situations such as the one we faced today, especially when one is not classically trained in theatre as I have been. Secondly, you showed such emotions even when not necessary for the role." He paused. "What I want to know is _why_…"

I turned away, violently removing my hand from his. I knew that he knew why. Holmes had the power to discern everything from nothing. What good would come from forcing the truth from me when he already knew it? I began to think of how to remove myself from Baker Street. I could no longer live under the same roof with Holmes if he knew this secret.

Croaking out a response, I fought to keep my emotions in check. "Holmes, it is nothing. I was just playing a role. Let it alone."

I walked towards the armchair and refused to look back. However, he seized my arm again and spun me around.

"I do not believe you, John."

My bull-pup temper flared, and I tried to extricate my hand from his. "What do you know of it, Holmes? Is this all a game to you?"

He smiled coyly again, which did nothing to sooth my anger. "It can be. I can prove to you what I believe is the truth."

"Holmes, you go _too_ far."

He stepped closer to me, until we were centimetres apart. I fought with myself: Should I struggle and leave or should I stay and… and _what_? What did Holmes want?

Leaning close to me, I saw that the rouge was still perfectly in place, forming a perfect pout. His blush was carefully applied, and it accented his high cheekbones most beautifully. The perfume was remarkably still in the air. I inhaled softly and looked to my feet.

The battle was lost. I was doomed.

His hand, the hand that was now my prison, brought my own hand to his lips. He kissed my fingers softly.

"John, I believe I have won." He looked up from my hand and flashed that devil-smile towards me again. I felt the most despicable base desires instantly at the sight.

I could not breathe.

"What- whatever do you mean?"

He released me as his captive and began to explain. "Your breathing rate has increased two-fold since I have entered your personal space. Your heart rate, as I have noted by the pulse in your thumb, has increased substantially. Your palms are sweating, and your pupils are dilated. Either you have developed an acute infirmity recently or something has you _aroused_."

The vulgarity of his language appalled me and made me realize just how certain it was that he knew of my sexual proclivities.

I turned to flee.

"Before you go, Watson, because you believe I deem your inversion a perversion, perhaps you should ask yourself if I am not the same way myself."

Damn the man. Damn the man to the deepest reaches of hell. I never had thoughts to myself in my own home, and damn the man for tempting me to turn around.

Turn I did.

"Holmes, if this is a game-"

A smile, a genuine and soft one.

"I assure you this is not."

He approached me slowly and brought a hand to my face.

I gasped softly. _Could this be real?_ However, I could not focus upon the situation, for everything about Holmes's countenance spoke naught of what I loved about my friend, just of this stranger, this baroness.

"H-Holmes… I do not dare to presume what avenue these words and these actions will bring us to, but could we possibly forgo them until you have removed that _ridiculous_ costume and returned to your normal self? I regret that I am finding this situation that much more difficult with the baroness present."

Laughter was my reward, and he quickly bounded away to his room with a promise to return.

I sank slowly down to the chair and cradled my head within my hands.

_What have I done? What is to become of us?_

I tried to sift through my emotions and what was happening, if it truly was happening. My proverbial dreams were possibly coming true, or this could be some horribly cruel joke.

Would Holmes stoop to such a thing for a prank? He was fiendishly known for his impishness, and he took pleasure in his little games and surprises, but surely he would not take advantage of me in such a way.

However, Holmes appears to be quite unfamiliar with the "softer emotions" and has expressed utter disdain for them. Perhaps he is trying to instruct me on the foolishness associated with love?

I wanted to run, wanted to hide, but I could not be sure of the motives being Holmes's actions. What was behind this game?

A cough to my left snapped me from me torment. I looked up cautiously and saw Holmes… the real Holmes… staring back at me. He was resplendent, his hair falling freely about his face, and his cheeks were reddened from (what I assumed) his attempts at removing the make-up.

He looked positively desirable, even in his countenance. He was smiling like when he does at the close of a case, like he does when about to pounce upon his prey.

I felt instantly nervous at the thought.

Does he think of this in terms of a conquest?

I voiced my thoughts as such. "H-Holmes, before you do anything, I must ask something of you. Just what are your motives? Why now? Why at all?"

His face fell and turned sour. "Watson, why must you ask these questions? I am here, waiting to continue our adventure from before, and you just question. I have told you… I am interested…"

I was not assuaged by this response. "But… what of the flirting? Why did you choose now to voice these… interests?"

Holmes turned from me, looking out to the street below from the window. "I was playing the role, nothing more. It led to certain… reactions, that is all. And I am intrigued by these reactions and want to pursue them to whatever end they may lead."

"So this is _curiosity_?!" I was beside myself with anger, and I felt my hands curl into fists instinctively.

Holmes chuckled in a most annoying manner and cast me a look of reproach. "You did ask for my reasons."

"I do not believe you!"

"Watson, when life gives you lemons…"

"I complain about the lemons!" Holmes did not understand that I wanted more than this to be an experiment of his, more than a childish inquisition. I wanted him to love me, damn it!

He reeled on me, apparently as angry as I.

"Why can you not just accept this gift I am giving you without question? Why can you just not kiss me, Watson? Just… just…"

He turned from me, and he did not have to finish his sentence for me to know what he was insinuating.

"I cannot just forget this, Holmes… This…" I sighed inwardly and decided to go through with the truth.

"This has been my one desire for years now… And… And if you were not to reciprocate the depths behinds the action as I do, then it means _nothing_."

"Emotions are irrelevant and unnecessary. I have no use for such petty things."

This situation was becoming ridiculous. Holmes was lying. He had to be.

So I laughed.

Cuing the strangest of reactions. Rather than resorting to physical violence, he resorted to a physical action of another sort.

The action resulted in the both of us on the floor by the armchair, Holmes on top of my corpus, dragging his long fingers through my hair and tugging on the ends sharply, pulling me into our first, bruising kiss. He growled at me through his lips, and the vibration against my own lips caused me to gasp. The utterance opened my mouth, and he greedily ravaged the recesses of my mouth with his tongue.

I groped at his body, and my hands were almost acting of their own accord, softly cupping his face to attacking his back to pulling up his shirt to feel bare skin with abandon.

I was about to dip a hand into his trousers when he pulled away, resting on his palms and glaring down at me. I had to shamefully turn my face from the intensity of his anger. It felt as if I was breaking. I had thought his actions would be testament to the love I still believed him to have for me, but his anger just proved to me that he was trying to prove me wrong.

"Holmes, please let me up… I… I do not want this anymore."

It was his turn to laugh. "Of course you do."

I saw red and shoved him off of me, and I took pride in the fact that he was easily removed.

"How dare you mock me! I profess my faith and receive only scorn. I am not an _experiment_, Holmes!"

I walked towards the door, fully intent upon moving within the day to lodgings where I would at least receive more respect, but I thought twice and decided Holmes had not received the extent of my anger.

"Who are you to say that you do not want this for the same reasons I do?" He opened his mouth to interject, but I silenced him by hurrying forward with my wrath. "Have you forgotten yourself? You are _not_ the calculating machine you would have the world believe you to be. You are still a man." I did not back down in the face of his anger. "Do not take that as an insult. To be human is meant to be a _compliment_. Do not deceive yourself by thinking you are not capable or worthy of love."

He laughed bitterly and brought his knees to his chest, still on the floor. He refused to look me in the eye.

I walked towards him and sat in front of him. "You love daily, Sherlock."

Holmes looked up upon the utterance of his Christian name. "What are you talking about, Watson?" I just barely heard the words, for he was whispering with a rasp at this point.

I smiled fondly down at him, my anger removed completely at this point. Holmes _did_ love me; he just refused to acknowledge the fact. It just took me this long to realize that he was a man just as I am. Now I had my weapons to use against his cold logic.

And I used them as such.

"Sherlock, do you remember your actions towards me last night? When you helped me up the stairs and played me that piece to soothe me? Do you realize that you have engaged in such actions enough times that even I have lost track? You do love me, or you at least care for my well-being.

"Shouldn't that be enough, Holmes?"

He looked up towards me as if I were a spectre.

We stared at each other for what seemed to be an eternity.

Finally, _finally, _he stood slowly and reached out for my hand and took it within his. Holmes stared at the pair for the longest time, until he uttered softly.

"Watson… John… I know I must seem quite the fool, but believe me when I say I am sorry. I… I do not know quite how to express myself with emotions such as this, but…"

He appeared at a loss for words.

I squeezed his hand gently and implored, "Holmes, you do know how. You've been showing me your faith in me daily since we have met. All I ask is that you put the same motives into wherever you would like this relationship to go next."

Sherlock's eyes met mine. The grey eyes appeared conflicted, but his voice was resolute. "I can try…"

He brought our hands to his chest and stepped forward, never removing his hands from mine, and the action briefly made me think of our encounter in the carriage, him as the baroness and me as her jealous physician keeping her from falling.

I smiled and pushed the thought away. I did not want the persona; I wanted the man before me, so I breached the divide and kissed him.

And was met with what I had been pursuing for so long: a physical, amorous relationship and returned affection.

It tickled me so that it took Baroness Von Stuppell to realize these dreams, but in the back of my mind, I thanked the guise.

However, in the forefront of my mind, I thought of how this man, this detective, had put so much courage into that character, using it as a vehicle for his own desires to play them out in a more socially acceptable form.

It made me kiss him harder, and I took pride when he moaned into my mouth and wrap his arms gently around my waist.

I smiled, and I almost laughed when I felt his smile on my lips.

So he _did_ love me.


End file.
